


Absolutes

by Ataraxetta



Series: Branded [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, a metric ton of touching and melodrama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ataraxetta/pseuds/Ataraxetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was difficult for Adam to ignore a question once it was posed, and Ronan was the biggest question of all.</p><p>(Or, Ronan's tattoo is actually a lovebite from Cabeswater, and Adam has some opinions about that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutes

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: TRC belongs to its author and creator. I own nothing and this is all just for kicks. There are a few blatant shout outs to lines in the books (including the summary), and those are also not mine._
> 
> A little post-BLLB fic to try out character voices and play with the idea of Ronan's tattoo being a (totally consensual) brand/rune/whathaveyou from Cabeswater. This was part of a WIP I amnestied, but I've cleaned it up to work as a standalone. I apologize in advance for how very Ronan-focused Adam is, which I know is not entirely in character. Mostly this was a chance for me to get Ronan in and out of a wet t-shirt, and Adam and Ronan to mack on each other like they mean it. I hope you enjoy!

**Absolutes**

It was only by chance that Adam noticed the BMW. 

The Catholic population of Henrietta was bigger than Adam would have thought it was before he met Ronan, but St. Agnes was centuries old and though the sanctuary itself was grand there hadn't been many renovations to add amenities. The parking lot, separated into a smaller section outside the office and rectory and the bigger lot in front of the main church, only fit about thirty cars packed in like sardines every Sunday. Those who didn't get one of these coveted spots had to park across the road in the gravel and dust. On a stormy Thursday night, both were empty.

Adam had glanced out the window casually as he walked by on his way to bed, not expecting to see anything except his crummy car and the white touring bus that belonged to the church, but a bright flash of lightning revealed Ronan's M3 tucked neatly into the very corner and shadowed by the branches of a huge oak tree. For a second, Adam turned his head to let his eyes rove around his tiny apartment as though he might have missed Ronan's arrival, but then he rolled his eyes at his own ego. St. Agnes had been Ronan's haunt long before Adam moved in. It was none of Adam's business what he was doing.

Only it seemed deliberate, parking so far away on such a shitty night, under the low hanging branches of a tree in the one place the street lamps in the lot didn't reach. Ronan had never cared if the priest who lived in the rectory below knew he was here after hours, and the Lynch name coupled with Ronan's reputation carried enough weight that even if the priest had a problem with it, nothing would be said. It could only be Adam that he was avoiding.

Adam was a little shocked by the bolt of hurt he felt. Sure, he and Ronan were technically still fighting, but they almost always were, and Adam didn't think this was about that. For one thing, avoidance and the silent treatment were Adam's preferred methods of punishment, not Ronan's, who wanted his anger to be seen and heard so it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. For another, a fight had never actually kept Ronan out of Adam's apartment before, and they'd had far worse ones.

It had to be something else that had driven him to the church instead of to Adam's floor, something he didn't want Adam to see. Maybe he was having a crisis of faith. Maybe he needed to talk to God. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe all three. Whatever the case, he clearly wanted to be alone.

Adam got into bed, but after what felt like an eternity he was still grainy-eyed and awake. When he checked his ancient alarm clock and saw that only ten minutes had passed, he let out a resigned sigh. He turned his lamp back on and got up again, pulled on an ancient red hoodie that he zipped all the way up over his bare chest, and shoved his feet and the legs of his pajama bottoms into a pair of rubber rain boots. His bad habit of not leaving well enough alone was going to bite him in the ass someday. Again.

But what if something was wrong?

He wasn't religious (and if he had been he would've been angry), and the last time he'd been inside the sanctuary he'd watched Ronan die, so it was with some trepidation that he pulled open the heavy door and let himself in. It was brighter than he'd thought it would be from candles lit at the front, but still dim and kind of creepy, smelling heavily of incense. He pushed the hood of his jacket off his head and hesitated only a moment before starting down the center aisle.

Ronan was stretched out on the second pew, one arm hanging limp off the bench, the other curled on his chest. There was enough light to see him by, but some of his details were obscured in the dimness. He lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling. He was still wet from rain, drops caught in the short hair at the nape of his neck and in his eyelashes and his white t-shirt soaked through, but it didn't seem to be bothering him. He looked about as peaceful as he ever did. The ley line was calm, and so was Cabeswater. Ronan was sleeping, not hurt; he wasn't in danger. Adam knew he should have gone back to his apartment, left Ronan to his privacy, gotten some sleep before school in the morning.

Instead, he sat down next to Ronan in the pew. 

For the first ten minutes he stayed stock still, sure that any second the priest was going to walk in and see him there, kick him out, evict him from the apartment, make him homeless a semester and a half away from graduation. Then his sense caught up with his anxiety; Father O'Connell was a nice guy, and the doors of the sanctuary hadn't even been locked. He felt his shoulders gradually relax.

It felt intrusive watching Ronan sleep, but whenever Adam let his eyes wander away they wandered right back, so he closed them instead. The flickering candlelight was soothing. So was the rain on the windows and roof and the moonlight through the stained glass. He drifted, not quite asleep and not quite awake, and when he came back to himself Ronan's brilliant blue eyes were open.

Adam said, "Hey."

Ronan seemed a little hazy and slow, like he'd been drinking, but he didn't smell like alcohol. He blinked slowly a few times and his fingers twitched on his chest. After a second he curled them into his palm, closed his hand in a loose fist and then opened it again. "I was dreaming," he murmured in a thick voice.

"You? No way." Adam raised an imperious eyebrow at the middle finger he was laboriously presented, cracking a grin. "Bring me anything?"

Ronan turned clumsily onto his side, the toe of one scuffed sneaker squeaking against the sole of the other, and raised his left hand from where it had been dangling near the floor. He held a can of soda up to Adam, who let out a startled laugh. "Hey, how'd you know?"

"You were thirsty," Ronan said.

It was Coke, because Ronan knew it was Adam's favorite. What he didn't know was that it was Adam's favorite because Ronan had once treated him and Gansey to a half hour long rant about how much he hated Coke and anyone who drank it. It had been a joke. The whole thing with the women of 300 Fox Way and the nickname had been an honest coincidence, but a satisfyingly funny one. Adam took the can from Ronan's loose grip, ice cold and the red matte from condensation. He asked, "In your dream?"

Ronan gave him a look like he thought Adam was a moron, which meant yes. A quiet, hot thrill went through him. He wondered if Ronan dreamt of him often, wondered what happened in them when he did. Without realizing it he'd opened his mouth to ask. He quickly quashed the question before it could be voiced and looked away, tucking his soda against his chest. "Well, thanks."

Ronan didn't answer, but when Adam flitted his gaze back in that direction his mouth was quirked up at one corner. Adam had never seen him like this, soft and tired in the aftermath, reaction time slowed. He looked younger, more like the Ronan who had held a baby mouse to his cheek to feel its heartbeat than the one who had hissed so much venom it had hollowed Adam out just a few days ago. Looking at him like this felt dangerous, so Adam turned away again, resting his head on the back of the pew.

"I didn't realize it took energy from you as well as Cabeswater," he mused. Ronan gave a noncommittal grunt and Adam squeezed his fingers tighter around his soda. "You're not drunk nearly as often as we think you are, are you?"

"I'm drunk pretty often," Ronan said.

"Why?"

Ronan let out a long sigh, not like he was annoyed by the question but like he had extra breath. "Helps, sometimes. Makes everything kinda softer. More confusing. Harder to tell if I'm dreaming or not."

"And that's better?"

"Yeah, usually. If I don't know I'm dreaming it's a lot harder to bring something back."

"Huh," Adam said. He'd gone out of his way not to think too hard about the things Ronan could do, discomfited by the enormity of it as a concept, let alone the reality, and so he hadn't thought to consider that it might cost Ronan something to do it. It seemed strange that in all the nights Ronan had spent on the floor next to Adam's bed, Adam had never witnessed him dream something into reality. "Does it hurt?"

The way Ronan replied, a hesitant "only sometimes," made the hair on the back of Adam's neck prickle. He lifted his head to watch Ronan slowly sit up. It was easier to see his face in the shaft of moonlight that hadn't reached the dark dip in of the pew. Adam frowned. "Are you – Shit, are you bleeding?"

He was, a shallow gash on his cheek and, as Adam urgently searched the rest of him, scratches on his left arm, half hidden by his leather bracelets. Ronan's shoulders hunched sullenly, but he didn't protest when Adam's hand shot out to grab his arm and pulled it into his lap before he could tuck it away. Adam cupped the back of Ronan's wrist in his palm and pushed the bracelets out of the way. His skin was still damp and the blood watery. The cuts weren't deep, but over the scars already there — remnants of the dream that had nearly killed him — they looked worse. 

"You were having a nightmare," Adam murmured, understanding. Ronan's lip curled sarcastically but he didn't say anything. Adam looked at the soda on the bench beside him and then back up. "You were having a nightmare about me?"

"Don't look so flattered, Parrish," Ronan said. The slur was mostly gone from his voice.

"Flattered isn't the word I would use," said Adam. All the cautious pleasure he'd felt at the thought of Ronan dreaming about him was draining away like it had never been. He'd seen the things brought to life by Ronan's nightmares. They weren't usually a can of soda. He thought of the vision he'd seen that first trip into Cabeswater and felt a black ache throb inside him. "I did this to you?"

Ronan took his wrist back abruptly, shook his wrist so his bracelets slid back into place, and Adam looked up at him, surprised by the amount of disdain in Ronan's expression. His sharp smile was humorless and his blue eyes mean. "For someone who hates to be pitied you sure do make it easy."

Adam jerked back, stung. "What the fuck, Ronan?"

Ronan slouched, pressing the soles of his shoes to the back of the pew in front of him and tipping it, then let it fall into place again when an echoing clunk. His feet hit the floor with a sound nearly as loud. "I'm not _you_. You're not the monster in my nightmares."

Adam worked hard to keep himself from snapping, because Ronan was a jerk but he was a jerk with an almost valid point (which didn't happen all that often) and Adam didn't want to fight again. He couldn't help that his first assumption was always against himself. He hadn't even entertained the idea that it might have been something other than him trying to tear Ronan apart. He swallowed his temper. "What was I then?"

The silence stretched for a long time. Ronan used silence like a weapon, and it was effective every time, but Adam could handle it better than most. He let it run its course until Ronan sullenly gave in. 

"You were the thing being killed by the monster," he said. Something lodged in Adam's throat, obstructing his voice. Ronan wiped the blood off his arm. "I turned around to get your fucking Coke and when I turned back you were…" He trailed off. "Your eyes were still open."

When Adam still didn't say anything, Ronan did what Gansey called his smoker's inhale, in deep through his nose, out light through his teeth. He looked up at the vast ceiling and quickly back down, like it was too much. "It's not always you. Sometimes it's Gansey or Blue, or my brothers, or Noah fading away and never coming back. I've watched you all die thousands of times. I usually wake up with blood on my hands."

"Like it's your fault?" Adam asked.

Ronan shrugged. "Sometimes. Sometimes I just didn't get there in time, or I was right there watching and couldn't do shit to stop it anyway."

He was angry. Or he wanted to be, but he was too tired. Every new piece of himself he exposed was bloody and raw like a wound, and felt like an accomplishment. These small glimpses were so rare and so far away that it was easy for people to decide it wasn't worth cutting themselves open on all the broken glass you had to walk on before you could see them. _Lonesome,_ Adam thought, but he thought that Ronan probably made it that way on purpose. All Ronan really expected of anyone was that they would eventually leave him behind, and you couldn't grieve for someone you didn't care about.

"You knew you'd have nightmares," Adam guessed. "Is that why you came here, instead of my apartment?"

Ronan huffed. "Maybe I just didn't want to see you."

"Maybe," Adam said. Ronan snorted, closing his eyes. It was kind of a joke, only funny for how blatantly false it was, like saying Gansey didn't want to find Glendower. Almost all the time, Adam felt like so much less than everyone else. Less human, less decent, less rich, less whole, less deserving, less worthy. And yet here he was, in a church sitting next to a prince or a God or a miracle who could see all the dark parts that made Adam terrible and still wanted him, still had nightmares about losing him.

After a while, Ronan gave him an honest answer, like he had in the Barns when he first showed Adam the dream thing. "Sometimes I dream of wasps."

Adam said, "I'm not allergic."

"It's a metaphor, jackass," Ronan said. He waved a dismissive hand and Adam caught it. Ronan opened his eyes. He looked from Adam's fingers tangled with his own to Adam's face. Lightning lit the sanctuary in brilliant flash. Everything felt charged. Ronan's palm was soft against Adam's calloused one. In the dim quiet of the church, masked under the sound of the rain, it felt like he could say anything, everything, and nothing would be ruined.

"I know," Adam said. "I'm not afraid of the things in your head."

He was sure that Ronan's reply would be 'you should be', but Ronan didn't answer at all. He was unnaturally still, mouth closed. It wasn't often he managed to surprise Ronan. He wanted to do it over and over again. He lifted his hand to swipe his thumb over the runny scratch on Ronan's face and watched Ronan's eyelashes flutter involuntarily, heard the hitch in his breath. He scooted closer, let his fingertips follow a drop of water from Ronan's hair down the side of his face to his neck and the rabbiting pulse in his throat. Adam felt electrified, hyperaware, overheated.

A crash of thunder made them both jump. Adam pulled his hands away, shoved them into the pockets of his hoodie, glad it was dark enough to hide his burning ears. He cleared his throat and said, "C'mon, you shouldn't sleep in here."

They walked through pouring rain back to the church office, and then up the stairs, shoes squeaking on the steps. They didn't talk and the silence felt loaded, heavy with something that made Adam shiver. Or maybe that was just the cold. Once inside he set his soda on the twelve dollar coffee table he'd picked up at a flea market and shimmied out of his hoodie and rain boots, kicking them into place by the door. "I've got towels, hold on."

He took a second to dry himself off as thoroughly as he could in the bathroom and brought another towel – the only other one he had – out to Ronan, who had toed out of his shoes and socks and was turned away from Adam, peeling his drenched t-shirt off. He wasn't big, not like Declan or even Matthew, who were both stocky, but he was toned all over. Adam was suddenly self-conscious of his own wiry build, his visible ribs and the indistinct flatness of his stomach. He watched the muscles in Ronan's back shift, drawing tight as he crossed his arms above his head to tug the shirt off by the neck, sharp shoulder blades standing out. Adam only had the bedside lamp on for the sake of his electric bill and in the softer light it looked like the ink on Ronan's back was…moving. Glowing? Changing?

A few weeks ago at 300 Fox Way, Gwenllian had told Adam, "The Greywaren belongs to Cabeswater."

"Ronan doesn't belong to anyone but himself," Blue had said hotly.

Adam abruptly remembered Gwenllian's reply, the words hissed through her mad smile: _'He wears its brand, doesn't he?'_

It couldn't be possible.

He dropped the towel on the floor, heart in his throat, pounding, and closed the distance between them. Ronan must not have heard him, because he jumped when Adam touched his shoulder and twisted to look at him.

"Sorry," Adam said. Ronan raised a judgmental eyebrow that Adam had become impervious to a long time ago. He was still soaking wet, dripping water all over Adam's floor. Adam said, "Can I see?"

"See what?"

"Your tattoo."

"You have seen it."

"But I never really looked," Adam said.

Ronan stared at him for a few seconds, his eyes first, and then his gaze dropped to his mouth. Adam felt his lips part in response, his tongue snake out to wet them. Slowly, Ronan turned back around, tense all over, t-shirt still tangled around his wrists. When Adam touched his shoulder again he dropped his head a little.

The part of his tattoo that was always visible was the hooks at the neck. There were more on his sides, curved over his ribs, and long, ferocious talons that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Inside the border of razor sharp edges, Adam saw Chainsaw, and screaming mouths stuffed with vines, and beaked horrors with murderous eyes.

When he tilted his head to the left, he saw the wild valley of the Barns, a stretch of burning highway, and a dark lake in a dark cave. When he swiped his palm through the water drops beading down Ronan's skin, he saw a serpent, a smiling mask, a car crash, a lightning storm. He closed his eyes and opened them again, dragged his fingers lightly down Ronan's spine, saw a fountain of blood in a cobbled courtyard spurt to life in the wake of his touch, saw a BMW, a mouth full of sharp teeth, a broken body with brain matter spattered on the gravel around it.

Ravens, crows, a forest of whispering tree branches, a summer sun, a Camaro, St. Agnes, a loaded gun, screaming hatred, furious hope, a thousand horrible beautiful things that only had names in Ronan's head. It shifted constantly, change rippling out from the pressure of Adam's palms in the center, explosions turning into lilies, birds into monsters, monsters into roadmaps, roadmaps into an ancient script in a language that Adam was certain Ronan didn't know.

In Adam's hand, it felt too heavy, weighted down. Under the rapid pound of Ronan's heart, Adam could feel the strong, steady pulse of the ley line.

He had so many questions clawing at that part of him that wanted to understand everything, but they were buried under horror, under wonder. What a miraculous creature Ronan Lynch was.

 _I want to know you_ , Adam thought, _I want to learn every part of you._

It would be painful, because there was no way to crawl into Ronan's core without slicing himself open on all the claws, but Adam _wanted_ with a hunger that was terrifying. All the things that Adam had been through this year, and this was still terrifying.

He took a half step closer, smoothed his palms up to Ronan's shoulder blades and then down his sides. With his forefinger, he traced a thorny vine from the wing of Ronan's hipbone to the nape of his neck and followed it back down. He leaned in closer, one hand curled around Ronan's hip, the other sliding up his flank to cup his ribs just under the arm. His mouth flooded. His lips were a breath away from Ronan's skin. He took a slow, shuddering inhale and smelled rain, Cabeswater, Ronan. Ronan was holding so still, head bowed, trembling. Or maybe that was Adam. Or both of them. Not trembling, but vibrating. Energy and energy. Matchy matchy.

Adam's nose touched the skin just behind Ronan's ear, his mouth brushed over the shell. Ronan made a quiet, hurt sound in his throat and then there was a wet thunk from his shirt hitting the floor. It took every ounce of fortitude Adam possessed not to scramble away as Ronan turned to face him. He could have shoved Adam back, easily broken his hold, but he stayed there willingly in the cage of Adam's arms. There were only inches between them. Ronan's expression was quiet but there was something in his eyes, shock, fear, cautious disbelief, anger, fathomless longing, a whole goddamn universe that couldn't possibly exist inside one person, but existed inside Ronan Lynch.

Without knowing if it was bravery or insanity, Adam pressed his fingertips into Ronan's back to pull him closer. Ronan let out a quiet hiss as he stumbled in and his broad palm curl around Adam's hip, freezing cold from rainwater that warmed to heat that ached like a bruise within seconds. Their chests touched. Cautiously, Ronan's left hand found Adam's right and their fingers interlaced. Adam tilted his chin up, a question, and when Ronan didn't move away he brushed their mouths together.

It was almost nothing, a graze, too careful to shoot sparks down Adam's spine the way it did. Their eyes were still open, but Adam's felt heavy-lidded. Ronan's thumb drew a circle in the hollow of Adam's hipbone and Adam shivered with pleasure. It shouldn't feel this good, he was certain, not so small a thing. He squeezed Ronan's hand, brushed their lips together again, felt the little explosions of anticipation/want/potential ripple through his veins and did it again. He caught Ronan's bottom lip between his own, felt just a hint of Ronan's tongue against the corner of his mouth, felt both their hearts stutter in their chests.

It was too hot, too intense, too much, not enough. He cradled the back of Ronan's head in his hand, held his breath as Ronan's mouth grazed over his cheek, the damp hair at Adam's temple, the sensitive spot just in front of his ear, the hinge of his jaw. He drew back to see Adam's face and their eyes met. Between one second and the next the building, crackling energy in the spaces between them snapped.

Adam turned his head to snare Ronan's lips with his own and kiss him like the world would end if he didn't and Ronan unthreaded their fingers so he could tangle his hand in Adam's hair and hold fast. Adam's head was spinning, his chest tight. He swiped his tongue over the seam of Ronan's mouth and Ronan parted his lips to coax it inside. It was wet, hot, messy, clumsy, good. Really fucking good. Adam hadn't thought much about his first kiss beyond wanting to get it over with, and he was grateful because if he'd been waiting for _this_ he'd never have thought about anything else.

Thunder crashed so loudly that the furniture shook and they startled, stumbled over Ronan's shoes and tripped. Ronan's back hit the wall with a dull thunk and he wrapped both arms tight around Adam to keep him tucked close. The kiss didn't break. Ronan tasted like skin and spit and he smelled so good, familiar, strange, unwordly, like mist. His skin was slick against Adam's, his arms impossibly strong. Adam couldn't get any closer but he wanted to and nothing seemed impossible.

Their hips slotted into alignment and Adam broke the kiss with a wrenched sound, let his head fall back and curled an arm around the back of Ronan's neck as Ronan's mouth found the side of his throat. It seemed insane that arousal could ignite so easily but he was hard in his threadbare pajamas, which would have been mortifying if Ronan hadn't been just as stiff in his jeans. Adam's lips tingled, his whole body buzzing, and he could feel the flush burning his face. When Ronan lifted his head Adam drew him in until their mouths slanted together again.

It was wild, raw, until their lips were chapped and swollen, and then Adam hooked his fingertips into the hinge of Ronan's jaw to open his mouth wider and kissed his way down Ronan's neck to hear the quiet noise Ronan couldn't hold back. When their lips met again it was slower, scarier, sweeter. Adam cupped the nape of Ronan's neck in one hand and Ronan's tongue lapped over the roof of Adam's mouth and he dragged his hand down Adam's quivering belly before curling it back around his hip. His fingers gentled in Adam's hair, combed through the tangles he'd left. Then he took Adam's bottom lip between his teeth and bit down just a enough to make Adam's whole body throb, and they were desperate again.

Adam didn't know how long they stood there kissing, adrenaline or electricity surging between them, but eventually they stood still, pressed together knees to chests. Adam tightened his grip on the back of Ronan's neck and Ronan exhaled a shaky breath. Adam touched their foreheads together, labored breathing caught between them. Time seemed to stretch infinitely. He murmured, "Ronan."

Ronan said, "Why?" and Adam felt exhilarated, light, wide open. He felt himself smile. "Wanted to thank you for the soda."

A joke, but Ronan didn't laugh. When he spoke he sounded wrong, like he was hurting. He said, "Cabeswater."

Adam's eyes snapped open. He pulled back a step so he could see Ronan's face and Ronan's arms around him loosened and then fell away. The war of misery and hope in his expression tugged heart strings Adam hadn't known he had. It shouldn't have made sense, but Adam understood; how could Ronan trust anything to be genuine when Cabeswater would bend over backwards to make his dreams come true?

"Sorry, man," Adam said. "Just me."

Solemn eyes searched his face and Adam tried not to let anything shutter closed. He'd gotten so used to keeping everything out that it was hard to let the seams come undone. Haltingly, because it was so difficult, he told Ronan what Cabeswater had asked of him, and what he'd given, and what he'd learned since. Adam was its eyes, its hands. Not its puppet. Not its slave. _Cabeswater,_ Persephone had once said, _is not the boss of you._

Ronan listened, and then he amended his question. "Why now?"

"I wasn't awake before," Adam told him.

It shouldn't have made sense, but he was pretty sure Ronan understood. Adam Parrish was unknowable to everyone but Ronan Lynch. He rested his hand in the middle of Ronan's chest, felt his heartbeat, felt the magic inside him. Dreamer. Dream. Prince or God or miracle. Magic. 

And Adam, the Magician. 

_Not Cabeswater's,_ Adam thought. _Mine._

Adam grazed the shells of Ronan's ears with his fingertips, watched the way Ronan soaked it up, like he was starved of touch. Their eyes met again and Ronan touched his fingers to Adam's red mouth. "And now you're awake?"

Adam had spent the last eighteen years desperately striving to be whole. Being with Ronan made him consider the possibility that he already was.

"Yes," he said. "I'm awake."

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> I am often found shouting about the raven cycle over on my trc sideblog on [Tumblr](http://essie-grant.tumblr.com). :)


End file.
